Ice Ice Baby!
by kkolmakov
Summary: Aphrodite and Hephaestus gave up their immortality and are pretty chuffed. They have four sprogs and honestly don't need any aggro with the mental Northerners, especial if it means dealing with Loki. The bloke is bonkers! Sequel to "Stop, Hammer Time!" Thorin as Hephaestus, and Loki... well, Loki is Loki *No Infringement Intended* ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Ready, or not, but still set, and go... :D**

You are really dischuffed, they don't have your favourite apples today. The merchant mournfully squawks and fusses around you, but you feel irritated. Let's face it, you had a bit of a row with your husband at the brekkie, and now everything gets your knickers in a twist. You are giving a red apple in your hand a death glare, and the merchant blabbers away.

"Take it, my lady, try it. You will never to go back to your old preferences."

"I am rather constant in my tastes, dear sir." You give him your best snooty stare. You still have the skills from the goddess times. "If I like a thing, I never want another."

Nonetheless, you take a bite from the fruit and turn around to walk on. You bump into someone, and the apple falls out of your hand. Bollocks, pity, it wasn't that bad, perhaps a bit too tangy for your taste. And then with a shock you stare at the red apple with a white where you bit, now on the palm of the person you bumped into. It is a man, tall and lanky, he has knelt with a mental speed to catch it. Your eyes slide from the narrow elegant hand, with strong long fingers, to a masculine wrist, along a forearm clad in a barbarian clobber, to the wide shoulders, and finally you meet a pair of the most astonishing green eyes you have seen in your life. He has a pale face, narrow, striking cheekbones. He gives you a wide smile, all his even white teeth are on display, and then he straightens up. Gee, that's a hell of a lanky streak of piss!

"My lady," he bows slightly and stretches the open palm to you with your apple on it. Blimey, your knees literally buckle. Fucking fuck, that voice has to be sodding illegal! He slightly tilts his head, a strand of black hair falls on his eyes, and he smiles even wider, as if it were possible. Seriously, he is bloody mesmerizing! OK, Phro, repeat after yourself, you are a married woman, you are a married woman! And he technically isn't even attractive, it's just the intensity of the stare and the fucking voice! Take the bloody apple and go home, Phro. "Your fruit, darling."

You grab the bleeding apple and give him a very unnatural smile. What is fucking wrong with you, Phro? In the last twelve years you haven't even looked at a single bloke besides the one you shag every night. Seriously, you can count the nights when you didn't on the fingers of one hand. Well, maybe two hands. OK, you are exaggerating, but you get the picture. And all of a bloody sudden you are ogling a skinny git in black leather trousers. Seriously, is he not chafing there? Bloody fuck, not thinking about the content of his trousers!

"Thank you, kind sir." You swirl on your heels and are pretty much ready to sprint home, when the skinny git's voice behind you makes you freeze.

"Astonishing. It has only been twelve years, and you managed to have forgotten everything. Do you have no remnants of your powers, Aphrodite?"

You slowly turn around. Breathe, Phro, breathe… The tosser is standing, studying you, and you gulp. Fuck, it's like being under a stare of a poisonous snake. And also you are slightly randy. It's the sodding voice. And the cheekbones. Fuck…

"Who are you?" He gives you a benevolent smile and makes a wide step towards you. Suddenly his chest, and my oh my, there are muscles on this lean body, is right in front of your eyes, fuck, not looking, not looking, and he picks up your hand. He lifts it to his lips. They are thin. Aha, concentrate on the flaws, Phro. Damn, he is all one big flaw, why is it working then? Bugger. He has very long fingers, and your hand is fully enveloped in his. Seriously, does he need to be so slow?! It feels like he is bloody fondling it!

"I am Loki of Asgard. And I'm burdened with glorious purpose." You gulp. Damn Norse barbarians! How come you didn't feel any power in him?! You might be mortal these days, but you still have your barmy ESP most of the time.

"Which is?" You give him a stern stare. You are good at it, you have four sprogs.

"I came to steal you away, Aphrodite." His lips are finally pressed to your knuckles, and your body jolts. Alrighty, you are in trouble. You don't know what the fuck is going on, but your now former goddess ESP is ringing. You gently pull your hand out of his, not without noticing his fingers twitch in a gentle caress, the pulps brushing your palm, bugger, bugger, bugger, and you smile to him pleasantly.

"You must have been misinformed, Maker of Mischief." A wee bit of flattery never harmed anyone, especially when dealing with men. And especially with male gods. And especially the Northerners, they are all bonkers there. You are also slowly backing off from him. "I am no Aphrodite. She rules the love of the world from her golden palace on Mount Olympus." He gives you a sly smile, and you remember why he is called Serpent Tongued. OK, you are officially bricking it.

"Do not think me dim, darling. I know who you are." He makes a step and turns out behind you, and you shiver. Bollocks, where are your multiple neighbours and chatty merchants when you need them? You are quite obviously assaulted by some barbarian in leather kecks and a dark green tunic. Hello, Phro really would appreciate some help here! "Do not hope for any assistance, Aphrodite. The world has forgotten about you as soon as you took this apple from my hand." You stare at the fruit on your palm, and you hear a soft chuckle behind your back. You shortly wonder how corporeal he is. If you knee him, will it hurt at least a wee bit? You sincerely hope so.

"Are you considering violence, darling?" Damn, can he read minds? "Worry not, I can't read minds." Fuck. "But you are clenching your charming little fist. Are you imagining how it meets my face?" He is in front of you again and slightly turns his face, as if inviting you to sock him. Bloody tempting if you ask Aphrodite here. And damn his cheekbones! The corner of his thin lips lifts, and he gives you a look from under his lashes. "Well, darling?"

You make another step back, and realize that indeed no one is looking at you. As if you are bloody invisible. You look at him again. Alright, you need to think here. He is obviously slightly off the trolley, you are no goddess anymore. He's got the wrong girl. As you already said, them Northerners are a barmy lot. You have dealt with them before, much less than the other gods though. You know that there were some exchange programs and shite, but they don't have a goddess of love. They have Freyja, but she is also in charge of war and death there, you mean, how mental is that? The union should interfere! Do they bloody expect one chick to do all the work? Apollo had some business with their Bragi, but it ended tits up. The temperaments of the two gangs obviously don't mix well.

"What do you want from me, Silver Tongue?" Gods, that is a hell of a creepy smirk!

"I came to give you new life, goddess." He stretches his hand towards you. "As I can see, you have given up your divinity, and your memories with it, but I will grant them back to you. I come with glad tidings, of a world made free. Come with me, and you will be the queen you were destined to be." Right… The bloke is a nutter. You square your shoulders and give him the stare.

"Are you out of your frozen mind?" For a second his smug face wavers. Oh, that got to him? Does he have some aggro with their weather? Duh, it sucks. "I am mortal these days. I am married as well, I have children." He smirks, and you really don't like this expression on his face.

"But you are not, Aphrodite. You are not married, at least not to the man who waits for you at your mortal home." What the fuck?.. "As far as I know your people do not accept polyandre."

"OK, A. Lacedaemonians do. And B, I would remember if I were married before marrying Heph. What the fuck are you talking about?" His eyes widen.

"You truly do not remember." His voice is low and disbelieving. Seriously, it really didn't need to become more… enthralling. Shite, it is fit. "Amazing..." Alrighty, you are done with the bollocks.

"I am going home now, Loki of Asgard. Take off whatever sodding spell you put on me, and let me go. I am not a goddess anymore, and I am happy about it. I have a lunch to make, otherwise my oldest one will snack on sarnies again, so… Toodlepip!" You turn around, stride ahead and walk face flat into an invisible wall. You yelp and rub your nose.

"There's not many people who can walk away from me, goddess. You are obviously not one of them."

"Let me go, you wanker!" Yeah, you lost your bottle. "I am going home. Right now. I have known men like you, gods and mortals, who thought that they could tell me what to do. That didn't end well for them!" You step closer to him, the top of your head hardly reach his clavicles and point your finger to his long bony nose. "Let me go this instant!"

"Here you are wrong, goddess. There are no men like me." He is still smiling, tosser. You grind your teeth.

"Zeus Almighty didn't manage me, Trickster. What makes you think you will?" He smiles wider, his arm suddenly snakes around your waist, he pulls you up, flush along his body, and to his lips.

There are two things to say here. Firstly, you start to fight right away. No sudden weakness overcoming you like a daft bint in a trashy poem by Sappho, no heaving bosom, you don't have any, no treacherous moan escaping your lips. No, you start a gods honest punch up right away. You are kicking, scratching, and even try to butt head him.

Secondly, it feels bloody familiar. Although you could swear a second before his lips touched yours, you had never seen the tosser before in all your bloody eternal life. His lips are firm and cold, demanding, he somehow manages to block all your blows at the same time, seriously, how many arms does he have? Considering two of them are wrapped around you, one cold palm on the back of your neck, another on your waist. His chest is rock hard under this tunic of his, you know for sure, you tried to punch it. You might have bleeding bruised your knuckles. His eyes are closed, he has surprisingly long lashes, and then he moves away from you and opens his green eyes. They are mischievous, but there is also something else there. Bloody hell, what did you get yourself into?

He puts you on the ground, and you consider kicking him in the shin. You decide against it. You are wearing sandals and will break your toes for sure. "You have to stop fighting me, darling. It will be much easier if you just give in and accept me."

"It would be much easier if you did me a great favour and jumped under a drove of running bulls, Snake Hearted." You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and he chuckles.

"Tell me, darling, who is that man you are so much in a hurry to return to? Surely, no mortal."

"Hephaestus, the god of smithery, and he will whoop your arse before you can say 'I once gave a birth to an eight-legged horse.'"

You are hoping to piss him off, but instead he starts laughing. It is an open, sincere laughter, wrinkles in the corners of his eye, and blimey, the tip of his tongue sticks out between the rows of white teeth. It also sounds odd, somehow like "ehehehehe."

"Oh, darling, I have missed you!" He chuckles couple more times. And then he cups your chin with his large palm and leans close to your face. He really needs to bend to do it, and it's barmy. With his tall frame he is like those zigzag rules Heph uses when he dabbles in carpentry. Oh Heph, where are you when the shite like this happens?! The trickster looks into your eyes almost tenderly, what the fuck… And murmurs under his breath. And it really shouldn't work, but it does. "C'mon, darling, let us go home. Do not fight me, love." You open your mouth to protest, but he leans in closer, his lips brush your cheek, then cheekbone, and he whispers in your ear, "Come back to me, Sigyn."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Alrighty, ****my lovelies****, a small disclaimer, bear with me :) Amrod was never supposed to be anyhow associated with the ****mouth-watering****, eye-catching, glorious, Mr. Thomas William Hiddleston. He was based on Auggie Anderson from **_**Covert Affairs**_** and was this charming rogue with a golden heart, and not the unstable, panties-dropping psychopath of a Norse God. A lovely ****Guest**** reader suggested TWH to play Amrod (I consider it a huge compliment, he is to die for!), but I still see Auggie/Chris Gorham when I write Amrod.**

**But after **_**Avengers **_**and **_**Thor 2**_**, I can't fight my illicit passion for the leather-clad psycho anymore! :) I have to admit, I've been lusting after Loki for ages, since **_**Thor **_**to be honest****_. _****I repeatedly subjected myself to the dullness that are all the other characters there just for one glimpse, it tells you a lot, I am not very patient with pompous boredom, but I never dared to… hm… "touch" him. But I am braver these days, and LOKI is in da house! But he is in no way Amrod! He is so much WORSE! :D Especially for our babies! :P**

"Who?" He straightens up and gives you a very, very alarming grin. Bollocks.

"Sigyn. The goddess of fidelity and constancy. And my wife." Is the bloke in Greece on a bender? He is obviously bladdered. OK, screw it. You need to get out of this aggro somehow.

"Listen, Loki," you go for a soft tone. The git is clearly unstable. "I am certain you are a wee bit at sixes and sevens here, and while you are probably an ace of a hubby, I already have one. And I would remember if I were married to you..." He interrupts you by gently placing his finger on your lips. Gee, his hands are so bloody cold! And then he flicks his finger on the tip of your nose. What the actual?..

The world fades, and you supposedly conk out. Damn, you haven't been manhandled like this for twelve years. You are bloody cheesed off. And then you realize we are not in Greece anymore, Toto. Or you are tripping. Yep, it is clearly either a hallucination or a dream. Fuck. This day has been buggered up from the start.

You are standing in a middle of some scary arse hall, all golden and archy, a ceiling disappearing somewhere up there, and there is a tall mirror in front of you. You are still you, comforting at least, there is a barmy dress on you though, you recognise the style, it's that mental Norse barbarian clobber, and there is a golden crown on your head. It's strange, it's a band but it has some sort of ears. They are sticking out of your curls that are styled very nicely, in an intricate do, with soft waves around your face and on your shoulders. The ears though… They were probably aiming for a resemblance to wings, but you look like a bloody squirrel monkey! The dress is rather disturbing too. There is a shoulder plate, and a metal belt, altogether all of it is way too heavy and armour like. It is also dark green with plenty of golden elements. If you didn't know better, you'd say you are going into a bloody battle.

"Are you ready for your wedding ceremony, my darling?" A soft female makes you turn around. The woman is drop dead gorgeous, older, very confident, regal. There is a golden dress on her as well, seriously, have they heard of cotton here? All this embroidery and organza must make them really chafe. She comes up to you and puts her hands on your shoulders. "Do not worry, Sigyn. Theoric is a good man. He loves you and will be a great husband to you."

The picture changes, the world swirls around, you are in front of a giant golden throne, there is a one-eyed bloke in front of you, and what's with barmy headgear? This one has a golden bucket on his head, with wings slash horns again, and there is another bloke, definitely his sprog, with a smaller bucket and a daft grin on his face. The lady from the previous episode is here too, and everyone looks so chuffed! You are standing in front of some hench bloke, all golden armour and blond hair, and he is also smiling. Well, not bad, rather fit, but you doubt he knows trigonometry. Definitely the jock type. Yuck. And then the one eyed bloke announces something in his booming voice, gee, this language sounds harsh, and everyone claps. Did you just get married? S'pose so. And then the hench bloke leans in and kisses you. Yikes, cold lips! And he changes in front of your eyes. Bugger. Yep, that's Loki alright. Younger, shorter hair, still slicked back like on a straight guy who is trying too hard, but the same bloody smirk, all snake like and smug. People gasp, swear, yell, there is a horrible commotion, the one eyed dude is shouting, the lady in the golden dress is looking pale, the blond fit bloke grabs the younger Loki, there is a wee bit of punch up. Madness, madness, and you are back at the market, your basket again clenched in your hand and the apple still in your other hand.

"Oh, the sweet memories of our beautiful wedding. They warm your heart, darling, do they not?" You blink and shake your head. What the fucking fuck, for fuck sake?

"What the bloody Hades was that?"

"Didn't you mean what the bloody Hel, love? You might as well accept it, you are not a Greek goddess anymore." You turn to him. He is comfortably sitting on the edge of the merchant's cart, again without anyone paying any bloody attention to him, and is chewing on an apple.

"Were these memories?" You obviously don't Adam and Eve it for a moment, but you need to play along. Your mind is swirling in panic. You need to get to Heph somehow.

"I was considering showing you the wedding night, but I was worried you might get overwhelmed with lust and affection for me. And we are in a public place." It's really hard to understand when he is being serious, meaning bonkers, or when he is taking a piss. Also, and actually kudos to him, he is constantly taking a Mickey out of himself as well, so you really don't understand how to take it all. "You have always had trouble controlling yourself around me, darling." See, that's what you mean! With this snake grin of his, does he mean he expects you to knob him right here into the sandy agora, or he means that in his noggin you had loveless marriage? Sod it.

"Alright, say for the sake of the argument, I believe you. We were married, which I somehow managed to forget..." And then you get distracted. "Wait! Did you bloody trick me into marrying you? What the fuck, Loki?" You press your fists into your hips, still holding on to your basket and the stupid apple, and he laughs. Damn, no wonder they call him Snake Tongued. Look at this sharp tip! He probably can tie a cherry stem in a knot with it.

"Finally you behave like the woman I knew. My little ball of fire..." Seriously, does he have to murmur sensually in the cursed voice of his? He jumps off the cart, and you step back. He lifts a chin and gives you a cold smile. "Do not worry, love. You grew to like me pretty quickly. Once your memories are back, you will be just as affectionate and passionate as I remember you." Yeah, right. But not before you break the long posh nose of his and knee him in the bollocks repeatedly. And that is before you let Heph get his hands on him.

"OK, pass. So, you are stating I'm your wife, the Norse goddess of rather something or not..."

"Fidelity and constancy."

"Don't interrupt me!" Bollocks, you sound like a stroppy wife. He smirks understandingly. Damn. "What do you want from me now? It is obviously the matter of the past. I am married to Hephaestus now, I have children, I have my mortal life..."

"I need you to go back to Asgard with me. I am claiming the throne that belongs to me, and I need my queen." Seriously?! You specifically left Olympus for that exact reason! You fought for the right to make your own choices, and you chose Heph because you loved him. Not because some manky, testosterone filled pisspot told you to! And you were so bloody zonked! Love is never love on Olympus, it is always a matter of politics! Sod it, you are not getting in the same aggro again!

"Do you think you could possibly get yourself another queen? You know, you are not that bad..." He lifts his eyebrows comically. "I mean you sound nice at least..." And then it hits you. "You have magical voice! Bloody fuck, how did I forget about it?! And here I was, wondering why it affects me so much! You are the Silver Tongue of the North! They even sewn your mouth shut once so that you couldn't magic talk yourself out of some barney!"

He narrows his eyes but then smirks, this time not so sincerely. You are feeling bloody uncomfortable here. To put it simply you are bricking it under his green eyed stare. But then he relaxes again.

"I have not used my magic on you, darling. If you are indeed affected, that is your own heart and body reacting." Fuck no, neither is reacting to him. Nope. Nada. Nothing stirs. Damn, how come you know how he feels under your hands? The cool smooth skin, narrow hips between your thighs. What the fuck was that?!.. Red alert, red alert!

"Whatevs, Loki. Back to the question of your queen. I am sure there is whole queue of chicks who want to..." You gestures all over him, and he smiles wider. "Share your throne. I am honestly the worst option for it. I am married, mortal, have children. And let's face, I have temper. Just this morning I had a nasty row with my husband about cereal choice. And again, you know after four children, I'm not that fit anymore. Some parts definitely lost some of their allure." You make another step back and realize you are standing where that sodding invisible wall was before. Ace, it's working. "So I'll just go home, and bless you and the best of luck, find yourself a nice chick with your type of appetites. You know there are dolls who are into all kinds of kinks, I have seen such mental stuff at my service, you have no..."

He pounces at you, one arms wraps around your waist, and the world blurs in a grotty green swirl of light and movement. Oh, you are definitely going to vomit now! And one of your sandals drops off your foot. Oh no, you like these sandals, they looked wicked on your ankles. And what the sodding fuck with never letting you finish a sentence?

You are indeed nauseated, from all the rainbow colours around you, and you grab him tighter, which gifts you with a chuckle from him. Wanker. You close your eyes and imagine that this is not happening. Nope, you are home, you are fine, you are going to wake up, from Otis demanding his breakfast in his crib, or Una dropping something in the kitchen, or Dan singing in the garden, or Thales smacking his training dummy in the yard, or maybe, just maybe even from the best way to wake up available, from Heph's lips on some of your sensitive parts. Let's face it, when it comes to shagging Heph, all your parts are sensitive. Last week he was giving you a foot rub, you pushed him on the floor and had your way with him in the dirtiest possible sense. The bloke is a god of shag. And you mean it as a compliment, not as in a god as a swearing both of you use it like. Like when you were stroppy and refused to make dinner last week. And he said, "You are such a goddess." And you got cheesed off and didn't shag him that night. Well, firstly, it was PMS and secondly, please, please, all gods and deities, you just want to wake up now and everything to be back where it should be. You will cook him dinners, shag him any time you have a chance, and will be as happy as a lark and super grateful for everything you have in your life. You are a grounded chick. You appreciate your life and especially your family. You value your new life and tell your husband and children they are precious every day. But if you were still a wee bit of a bitch and this is karma, you'll correct your behaviour. You promise to be a good girl!

You open your eyes and swear under your breath. You are standing knee deep in snow, and your teeth immediately start chattering. Fucking sodding bloody fucking fuck! You hate cold! Nothing pisses you off more than anything freezing, cold, frigid or even lukewarm! In the hottest weather you would still have a cuppa instead of a fizzy drink, and you sleep under your blankets even in Summer while sharing your bed with the former god of fire who is like twice as hot as a normal mortal. Oh, bugger, kill Phro now!

You turn around preparing to spit the worst swearings you know in five languages in the face of Loki the Prick, and then you freeze with your jaw dropped somewhere in the snowdrift you are standing in. He is dressed in furs and is holding a cloak stretched to you in a clear invitation, a pair of fur boots held in one of his hands. But that is not the point. There is a giant bloody wolf near him! Like bleeding ginormous! Elephant size! Well, OK, not elephant, but a cow for sure. You make a step back again, possibly speeding up the frostbite on your toes, but damn holy molly! You quickly turn away and look around. It's just ice and snow everywhere, and even if you run, the wolf will bloody catch you without much speeding up.

"Darling, you do remember Fenrir, your favourite stepson?" What?! You gulp and stare at the wolf. Was it that you are not supposed to look a wild animal in the eyes? Or the opposite, you are not supposed to tear your eyes off? Bollocks… The wolf steps closer, gracefully walking around Loki, and you retreat more, your foot gets stuck in the snow, and you trip, plopping on your backside. Your tunic is so thin that your arse immediately freezes.

"I suggest you get dressed, love. We would not want your mortal body to catch cold." You can't take your eyes off the wolf. Loki leans in to you and murmurs, "And you are endlessly wrong, minn villieldr, the mortal life hasn't tarnished your beauty even a bit. Wife of mine, you look ravishing!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: ****Just4Me****, I love you! Thank you, darling, for endless support and reviews, and how do you always guess my next moves? :)**

**A/N#2: So no reviews to support Loki? Hm.. Just a gentle reminder, it worked wonders for Phil in **_**Touch the Nerve**_**, he got a chance to date Wrennie for a wee bit :P**

And that is when you lose your bottle. "Enough of this, you wanker!" You jump on your feet and yell into his clock. "I am not going to be manhandled like a bleeding sack of potatoes! I am not going anywhere with you. You can drag me on the ground, you can end me, you can torture me, I don't give a fuck!" His face darkens, he narrows his eyes.

"It is not me you should be worried about, darling. We are in Jotunheim, the land of Stone and Frost Giants. If I leave you here, you won't last an hour."

"I'll take my chances." You straighten your back and clench your fists. Sod it, you are not a bloody wheelbarrow to be pushed around. "I am Aphrodite, wife of Hephaestus, mother of Thales, Una, Danaus and Otis, I will not be subjugated." He takes a giant step towards you and grabs your chin. His hand is burning your skin with its coldness.

"You are my wife! And you will kneel to me!" You give him a glare. You are not yielding before some leather wearing, skinny, barbarian git. Suddenly his face softens, and he smiles. "You have changed, minn villieldr, I have not considered it. And you do not have your memories, so you just do not remember what is best for you. I will be kind to you this time. Come, let us not argue."

And then a thought comes. You step closer and press into him. You hide your face into the fur on his collar and push your hands under his cloak around his waist. Bugger, that feels familiar. It shouldn't but it bloody does. The cool plates on his armour, the narrow waist, the way he freezes under your touch, and then relaxes, as if reluctantly. He hesitates for a second, but then one of his arms goes around your shoulders. And then you jerk the dagger from his belt scabbard and press its tip into his throat over the carotid artery.

"Get me back home, prick." The wolf growls behind you, but your eyes are locked with Loki's. He is still bleeding smiling but by now you realized he always does. It's like his default face. Either one of his milliard smiles, one mankier than the other, or a mad snarl.

"Or what, Sigyn? Will you kill me?"

"Do not taunt me, gonk. I will jab this dagger down to the hilt into your skinny neck if I have to."

"Even if you did, although the Sigyn I knew would never manage such brave act, what would you gain by it? You would be alone, in an ice desert, and my son is still behind you. I doubt he would spare your life for the sake of long forgotten friendship, were you to spill my blood." You are pondering, and he smiles wider. "Although I have to say, at the moment I find you enthralling beyond measure. Never in my life I would assume you capable of such feat."

You really have no bloody choice. That was a wee bit of a benny. Kind of a pointless outburst of pissiness. Honestly, you are entitled. This day sucks. You lower the blade and take a step back. You need to be smarter.

"What are you saying? That I was a wuss in my alleged previous life as your trouble and strife?"

He stretches his hand to take the dagger away, but you hide the hand with it behind your back. He chuckles.

"The word I would use is 'benevolent'," he throws the cloak over your shoulders and kneels in front of you.

"Doesn't sounds like me." He gives you a look from under his lashes, a sly smile on his lips, and helps you into the fur boots. One foot slides in, and he is unclasping the only remaining sandal. He lifts his face to you.

"I like the new you more. Soooo vicious." His fingers wrap around your ankle, and he rubs the round bone there with his thumb. You slightly jerk your foot back.

"Finish your service, Trickster. I am cold, and your hands are frosty." He pulls the second boot on your foot, and his fingers brush your calf. His face is right under your nose, and you give him an appraising look. Barmy pale skin, cheekbones, you could cut yourself slapping them, thin lips. The eyes are amazing though, so expressive. The only pip is that they probably express whatever he needs at that moment, no honesty to expect here.

"Where are we heading, Trickster?"

"To Utgard, the capital of Jotunheim," he gets up and clasps a brooch on your throat, securing the cloak. For a second his face softens, and he brushes the back of his hand on your jawline. "I will be honest with you, darling..."

"Are you even capable of it, Trickster?" You just can't shut your gob, can you, Phro? Your eyes lock, and he smiles.

"Occasionally." He is studying your face. "It is strange to see these new eyes on the familiar face. The fire, the confidence, the snark, you have shown so little of it in the past." His eyes are momentarily sad, and your old goddess of love instincts kick in. The bloke lost someone dear. Or he is snookering you. But your old ESP doesn't sense anything iffy. You are feeling slightly empathetic, and then he gives you his snake smirk and arses it all up, "Except in our bed chambers, of course." What a sodding bell end! You are torn between kneeing him and socking him in the jaw. But then you think that would probably only make the wanker more chuffed. You can smell kink all over him. And you need to be on the ball here.

"Then you've gotten only half of the pleasure, Maker of Mischief." He chuckles and slightly nods.

"Indeed I have." He offers you his looped arm and leads you to the wolf. The beast bends quite obviously to help you to get on him. What the fuck? You look at Loki, and he nods. Well, it can't get any worse, right? You've been kidnapped by a psycho who thinks you are his better half, you are freezing your arse off here, might as well climb on a scary arse wolf and go to Somethingheim, the capital of the Nippyland.

Loki starts walking, and you are riding a giant wolf. It's actually not that bad. The wolf is not pongy and very, very warm. After some time, hard to tell how long, the landscape is all the same, and you are freaking bored, you realize you are peckish. You doubt the prick eats, with the whole godly attitude.

"How far is the place we are going to?" He is walking in silence, probably lost in the world domination plans, he seems just like the type. "Yoohoo, Loki, how far are we?" He slowly turns to you.

"We will be in Utgard tomorrow by noon."

"Are we just walking there? Can't you magic us there? You seemed to be doing great before." He gives you an unblinking stare.

"No." Seriously, and that's it? Just bloody no? No wonder you have forgotten this marriage. What?! No, Phro, concentrate. You haven't forgotten the sodding marriage, it never happened. And you surely don't remember some vague randy details. Bugger.

"Will we at least stop for the night? Start the fire? I need kip and food by the way. I'm mortal." He makes an exasperated face. Oh, so he has more facial expressions. Ace. Don't mind Phro's sarcastic tone in her head.

"I will keep it in mind, minn villieldr." Guh, what a grotty arsehole! And there you thought that in Greece there was patriarchy! This one doesn't bloody bother to give you an answer to a simple question. Wanker. You need at least some data if you want to scarper, preferably without actually performing some marital duties, Zeus forbid. Fuck, how did you get into this aggro?!

"What does it mean? That moniker you gave me?" He slightly smiles and finally looks at you.

"My flame. You used to appreciate it a lot." You cross your arms on your chest.

"Can't imagine why." He suddenly goes spare, bares his teeth and steps closer. You consider tumbling off the wolf, but he is very fast. He grabs your upper arm, and the world swirls around you. Bugger, not that again!

You are in a large bed, the room is dark, the sheets silky and dark green. His heavy body is between your hips, dressed only in some sort of thin pants, and his lips slide on your neck. He bites into the skin, it's painful, but somehow ace at the same time. Did the old you have issues? Apparently, since you feel your whole body flood with pleasure. You hear your own voice moan, "Bondi minn… Fylkir minn… Konungr..." His cold narrow hand slides between your legs, and two long strong finger dive in. Your body arches, in an almost painful shudder of pleasure, and you grab his shoulders. "Meiri, meiri, meiri…." He shifts and sinks his teeth into your shoulder.

"Minn villieldr," he murmurs into your skin, and you are back on the back of the giant wolf, your whole body shaking, bright spots dancing before your eyes. You fall ahead, your fingers sinking in the fur on the nape of the beast.

"You have to forgive me, darling. Forcing memories back into your head must feel unpleasant, but I thought you would like to know." You lift your face to him. You have never hated anyone more in your life!

"You are lying..." Your voice is shaking. Bugger, feels like a herd of sheep just ran you over. And then the shepherd and his dog kicked you under your ribs repeatedly. Your head is all wonky, and your vision is cocked up.

"It only hurt so much this time because you were fighting it. If you let the memories in willingly, it would be as smooth and easy as it was at the marketplace." You feel tears run down your cheeks. They immediately freeze.

"It's not true…" You are Aphrodite, wife of Hephaestus. You have never in your life shagged anyone but him! Focus, Phro, remember who you are! You were the goddess of love, the two of you fell head over hills and popped your cherry. It is kind of hard to forget, you blew off the roof from his house. And you two haven't stopped ever since. And again as much as you two have experimented in bed, some kinkier stuff included, you are a hundred percent sure you are not that kinky. No pain while bonking please! You are taking slow breaths in, trying to ignore the fact that you somehow know that _bondi minn_ means "husband mine" and _meiri_ is "more".

"But it is. You loved those sheets, minn villieldr."

"Don't call me that!" You snarl, but wait, what?! "Do you see what you show me too?" He smiles smugly. Sod him, he is also a peeper? Although, does it technically count if it's himself he is watching? Wait... "But you were not there… In the first memory thingie… The hallucination… If it was a memory, how come you could see it?" Ha, here is a loophole in his argument! Point Phro!

"Do you mean when Frigga was consoling you before your wedding with Theoric?" You nod, and he waves a hand in the air. And disappears with a swirl of bright green sparkles in the air. And then he is back. "I needed to make sure you were happy on our wedding day, darling." What a sick fuck. You feel you are going to honk, tee time three seconds.

"We need to stop… I need..."

"We are not stopping. We are late already."

His voice fades, and you are sliding off the wolf, the world is gone, and it's dark. You try to open your eyes, everything is hazy, there is fire crackling in front of you, and you are at least a bit warmer.

"Heph?.."

"Sorry to disappoint you, darling," your eyes meet Loki's green irises. You are lying on the snow, wrapped in several more cloaks, your head on his lap. The wolf is nowhere to be seen. Fuck. You feel very weak, and your composure starts cracking. You feel tears rise and try to blink them away. You just want to go home.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: The new cover is made by your humble servant! It was fun to try my hand in something new:) I like the result :)**

**A/N#2: All names are anglicized in this fic. I just think it goes with the tone of the story. Seriously, there was a phrase "life feed through his cock" in **_**Stop, Hammer Time!**_** Do I really need to be myth precise in this one ? :P**

Loki lets you sleep for a few hours. When you wake up the sun is low and bloody red near the horizon. It's not sun probably, but sod it. You are not familiar with their barmy Norse geography. Isn't their whole mental cosmography built around a freaking tree or something? He helps you get up and climb onto the mutt again. By then you are starved, and no way in Hades you are telling the wanker this.

You travel for a few more hours, and all you can busy your noggin with is plotting. The landscape is dull, all ice and snow. At least you are not dying of cold here, the wolf underneath you is like a bloody furnace. Nothing smashing comes to your mind though. You are mortal, no powers, no way to contact Heph or any of your old mates, you have no bloody idea where you are, and more so what the fuck the skinny git needs from you. Whatever he waffles about, even if you happen to be his trouble and strife in the past, seriously, mental shite, he is treating you like a piece of furniture. He obviously needs you for some notty biz, but he is not discussing it with you. Pretty much you are not really a person to him.

You ponder the whole wife kerfuffle. Maybe you look like her? Supposedly, and that's Thea's theory, so it's slightly batty, the mortals' perception of gods and consequently how you, Heph, Thalia and Killi ended up looking, is the projection of your divine core. Meaning your divine core is an ickle ginger chick with small perky tits. Honestly, you'd expect to be taller. You had a whole load of bloody power when you were still on Olympus. Say, this Sigyn chick of his had the same powers, the projection was the same, thusly she looked the same. Yeah, this is totally dodgy. Considering the personal character would influence it too. And it's quite clear she was a gormless wuss. Seriously, and what's with all the biting in bed? She was obviously getting off that! Yuck. Yeah, Heph bites sometimes, he kind of just gets overwhelmed, but that's that yum, Phro is a fit chick, and pretense growling type of biting. Sort of "roar, I fancy a sweet little bird for a snack at the mo." Not the vampire shite that you were demonstrated! And what's with "oh my King, my Master, more, more, more"? Damn, woman, grow a spine! What's with submissive subjugated tude? Gee…

You end up deciding on not deciding anything. Tough tits. All you can do is wait for anything to change. Maybe while you three are treading through this barmy ice nothingness, you can gather some data. You whistle towards the tosser.

"Whatcha, Loki? Can we at least chat? I mean, I get it, you are a driven bloke, obviously you are engaged and shite, but I'm bloody bored here." Not a muscle on his clock moves. He keeps on walking, measured wide strut. Seriously? You've been walking, well, him and the stonking wolf underneath you, for hours, and he is still full of beans. "Hey, Loki, let's talk about something you like! What's your cup of tea, huh? What tickles your pickle? I dunno… World domination, leather pants, kinky shag? What would you like to wag about?"

He slowly turns and gives you a studying look. You smile widely and blissfully. Common, wanker, cank up! Show Aphrodite your weak spots!

"If you insist on talking, darling, tell me of your children." Bugger. That's a low blow. Man up, Phro, you need to make him talk. Oh you so hate the manky wanker!

"Alrighty, but a favour for a favour. You obviously are a proud daddy of a wolf. Any other fluffy children?" He gives you a snake smile.

"Are you truly unaware of any of our past, darling? Do no memories stir in your mind?" You shake your head.

"Nope," you pop the last sound. "So you'll have to enlighten me." He shifts and starts walking closer to the wolf. His long fur coat sometimes brushes your leg. You try not to shudder in disgust.

"Very well. Fenrir here," his hand in black leather glove strokes the nape of the wolf, who looks at him sideways and squints his eyes in pleasure. Creepy. "Fenrir has two siblings from the same mother, Jormungandr, the serpent that encircles the earth, and my darling daughter, the goddess Hel, who was given dominion over Nilfheim, the equivalent of your Underworld, I would assume." Bloody fuck. He turns to you and gives that scary arse unblinking stare of his. You gulp.

"Don't mind me asking, mate, but am I their mummy in this story?" You screw your eyes at the wolf you are riding. Bollocks, that is so wrong. He chuckles. It is low and throaty, and sounds bloody familiar. Oh fuck.

"No, darling, that would be Angrboda, a giantess and my mistress, I have not been the best of husbands in my time." No shit. "And now a favour for a favour. Tell me of your children, love." You clench your jaw but you need him chuffed. Gods, you are so roughing him up with some of the heaviest of Heph's tools later.

"Thales, Una, Danaus and Otis. All mortal, no freaky stuff." He is silent for a few moments.

"You have a fruitful marriage, darling. Do I gather your passion for your lover has not ebbed with time?" You have no idea, twonk.

"He is not my lover. He is my husband." Bugger, you are cheesed off. You need to keep him mollified but you are stroppy. It is fucking important for you! You love the idea that you and Heph share something else besides your children and groceries bills. But you are in danger of pissing the Norse freak off. He is going to lose it and shove some new manky memory into your noggin. You shrink expecting a benny but he is just silently walking, his hand still on the grey fur of your improvised stallion.

"You have always cared for conventions, vif." His tone is sarcastic. _Vif _is probably "wife," and you clench your fists to control yourself. Conventions my arse! You were the goddess of love and bonk for so many centuries that you have no illusions regarding the institute of marriage. But yours is ace. It's not the conventions, or social contract stuff that makes it brill, it's when two people make an effort. And Heph and you do. And he is fucking sex machine. Which helps. You really shouldn't tell it to the skinny git though. He gives you a side glance but you are not biting the bait.

Both of you are lost in your thoughts, and another hour passes in silence. You are a chatty bird, usually you don't shut your god like ever, but he has this strange tension and coldness radiating from him. Really creepy. And then the landscape starts changing, and you realize that you are now travelling uphill. Quickly the hills turn into steep mountain sides, and then you suddenly walk around a turn of the path, and there is something that almost looks like a city in the valley in front of your eyes.

Down below there is a large settlement, wooden buildings, Norse style, with a large, seemingly made of ice, really barmy looking castle. At least you assume it's a castle. It looks like the rest of the buildings but three times bigger. The wolf stops, and Loki takes you off him. Seriously, he is treating you like a toddler. Or a saddle sack.

"Stay." Are you fucking kidding me?! What are you, a mutt? The wolf leaves, and Loki leans on a nearby tree. How do the trees even survive this freezer? Or there is some sort of short and disappointing summer here?

"What are we waiting for?" You ask him, but he naturally ignores you. "Listen you, arsehole..." He shifts and presses his palm over your mouth.

"Shush, darling, we don't want the giants to hear you, do we?" His face is suddenly very near you, and you notice the small specks of gold in his green eyes. You gulp. You should be pissed off, he seems to never let you finish a sentence, and you are. But you can also smell his skin. It is a strange citrus fragrance, fresh and clean, and your nose twitches. His eyes meet yours, and he smirks knowingly. His gloved palm is still clasped over your mouth, and he is obviously getting off your current position. He leans closer, his lips brush your ear, and you jerk. You are bloody mesmerized, he is like a snake, and you should move away, but none of your muscles listens to you. He whispers in your ear, and you can feel his lips brush your helix. "Do not make me gag you, darling. As much as I know you would enjoy it." And that's when you knee him.

Well, he is definitely corporeal. And indisputably male. He clutched his wedding vegetables and bends in half with a hiss. You momentarily remember that is how it started for you and Heph. Preceded by the hottest snog you had ever had before that moment. Yum, Heph's kisses! The bloke knows how to blow your mind and make your toes curl. The soft warm lips, the nips and sucks, his large hot palm on the back of your head, another one on your jaw, the thumb brushing your cheekbone. You want to go home! Back to reality, Phro!

You don't run, there is no point. You just step back and lean on a tree. You feel a wee bit better. Once he can breathe in, he'll probably do something really unpleasant to you, but right now you are just enjoying the pained grimace on his face. He jerkily straighten up, his previously slicked hair mussed and takes a giant stride towards you. His palm clasps around your neck, and you stare in his eyes defiantly. For a second your eyes are locked, and then he narrows his.

"I cannot decide whether you are that brave or that dim, Aphrodite," he tightens the grip on your throat, and you gasp for air, "Violence towards me is the least intelligent course of action at the moment. You are fully in my power, and yet you constantly defy me." Your heart is painfully beating in your chest, your lungs are getting sensitively empty, and you clench your jaw. He probably sees your opinion on his behaviour advice in your eyes. Which clearly reads as "go fuck yourself". He loosens the grip and his palm slides higher, now holding you under your chin. "Mikill Wotan, the fire in you!" And with that he presses his lips to yours.

His are cold, hard, the smell of his skin flooding you, sharp, piercing, intoxicating… His hand leaves your face, he is pressing you into the tree with his whole body, and he makes some small movement, and you realize he jerked off his gloves, since now his bare hands grab your face. His caresses your jaw between his thumbs and curled index fingers. You are not moving. But you are not fighting either. And then he deepens the kiss, leans in more, and his hands jump on your ribs. He presses you up and against him, bunching up your furs, mashing you into him. You gasp, and he uses this chance to stick his tongue in your mouth.

And then you bite into his lip. Not in a sexy, "yum, Loki's mouth gives me delicious tingles" way, but vengefully, trying to cause as much pain as possible. He jerks and pushes you away from him. You fall, painfully smacking your spine to ice covered ground. He wiped his bloodied mouth and hisses, "Beiskaldi!" Oh, you are the bitch here?!

You spit out the first words that come to your mind, "Bacraut! Daufi sipill gargan!" And then you freeze. Although he is indeed an arsehole and a daft snake, the potlicker might have bit a bit of an overkill, but what the fuck with all the Norse language? He is staring at you as well. And then he starts laughing. Again with the bloody ehehehe, and his sharp tongue sticking out between his teeth!

"Oh my darling, that is simply delicious! I could not imagine in the sweetest of dreams that you are familiar with the expressions!" He stretches his hand to you, an almost warm, amused smile on his lips. "I am ready to accept some more pain from you just for the sake of seeing this new feisty side of you." You scamper on the ground and get up without giving him your hand. You open your mouth to quip more, when you hear some heavy stomps coming from under the hill you are standing on. These are definitely not a sound human feet would make.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: ****Shiori93****, thank you for your reviews, and of course Heph will meet Loki rather soon. To be more precise, Heph's fist will meet Loki's face. Repeatedly. Muawahaha :D *classic kkolmakov's evil laughter***

Well, the giants are bloody giant. They are also blue. And giant. Are these Stone Giants or Frost Giants? And how many times can you actually say "giant" in your head before you lose your marbles? Their eyeballs are red, and there are some barmy ridges on their skin. Pieces of cloth are wrapped around their gender parts, but who knows if they have any bloody gender at all. They are walking up the hill towards the spot where you are, and you take a step back. And then you notice that your presumably stepson of a wolf is walking in front of them. What the actual?..

Loki turns to you and gives you a sly smile. "Do you mind waiting for me here, darling?" He throws his hood on and starts walking towards the giants. What the fuck? Just a moment ago he didn't want the giants to hear you, and now he is all chummy with them and apparently is going for a wag! You hide behind a big boulder and peek.

The giants, and yes, you are still not over how giant they are, even after seeing cyclops, but these are blue and like twice Loki's height, and he is freakishly tall, so the giants, blimey, look very alike. Are they brothers or they all look the same? And no, you are not being a racist! You just have no idea. For the first time since the wanker barged into your life, you regret not having your alleged memories as his wife. You'd really appreciate some knowledge of the Norse demographics and cosmography at the moment. Looks might be deceiving, but those blokes are arse scary. There is still a hope they might be very friendly and preferably vegetarians, but you highly doubt it. One of them finally notices the dark fur clad figure of Loki and smiles. Nope, definitely not vegetarians, not with these mental elongated fangs. Gee, you are bricking it.

When there are just a few steps left between Loki and them, you see him lift his hand and makes one of his wavy gestures. Green glow spills over the giants, and suddenly instead of two blue humongous blokes you see two normal size blokes in long cloaks, hoods pulled low down on their faces. They approach Loki, and he clasps hands with one and then another of them. They have this odd handshake of sorts, palms clasped around forearms. One of them is carrying something wrapped in a piece of cloth, a medium size bundle of sorts, a box perhaps, and they pass it to Loki.

They are talking, their heads leaned close together, all three of them the same height, and a strange feeling stirs in your heart. You creep from around the boulder and step towards the men. One of them shifts, obviously noticing you and touches the shoulder of the other one. You can't see their faces, it is dark and they are covered by the hoods, but something makes you start walking down the hill towards them. Step, step, another, and then you start almost running. Your fists are clenched, and your heart is beating in your throat. One of them leans to another, talking, and he gestures at you in an energetic movement, and then Loki says something in a harsh tone, and with a wave of his hand they disappear in the swirl of his magic.

You stop in your tracks and suddenly come back to your senses. What the fuck was that? You have never in your sodding life seen those two men! You are certain. Or are you? You are frozen a few feet from Loki, he is still standing his back to you. Suddenly your knees buckle, and you drop on the ground. Everything swims before your eyes, and you are shaking. You don't hear him approach, and his face is suddenly in front of yours.

He is silent, studying you, and you realize there are tears on your cheeks. "Who were they? What?.. What was happening?" Your voice is breaking. "What is in the parcel?" He is still silent, and suddenly you see red.

"Tell me, you tosser! Tell me something! Anything! I have... I have to know who they were! Who were these two men?!" His eyes are attentive, and his bows are lifted in a strange tense curiosity. You pounce at him, battering and screaming. You hate him so much at the moment that had you any weapon you'd end the wanker right here, right now! And then you remember his dagger behind your belt and grab the hilt. You are aiming for the throat, but he is so much stronger! Besides being a six feet five bloke, all made of steel muscles and long ligaments, he is also obviously not a mortal. The dagger flies on the ground in a jiffy, and you are yelling more madly. You are trying to scratch his sodding eyes out, and then you realize he is not fighting you. He is trying to calm your tits. His arms are wrapped around you, pressing your limbs to your body, not allowing you do much, but at the same time he is not hurting you. You are struggling, spitting the worst of swears, all in the Norse tongue.

"Gamla vis hruga uskitr!" He topples you on the ground, his legs pressing on yours. You try rolling from under him, but this position makes it easier for him to tangle around you. And soon you can't move a muscle. Except continuing to swear at him. "Qvoki ne skeifr drpr munni ne svinhqfdi!" Even through the white rage haze clouding your mind you are gobsmacked by your own eloquence! Blimey, where did this come from?! _I will cleave your lying maggot mouth from your swine head! _He is making shushing noises, and you remember there are giants nearby. You don't give a fuck!

"Ormstunga! Huglausi merr!" You just called him a "snaketongue" and a "mare", which is bloody true. He did shag a horse. Well, technically the horse shagged him and banged him up. How do you know it? No fucking clue! Do you care? No fucking way!

"Minn villieldr, you need to calm down," his voice is surprisingly soft, almost affectionate. You jerk in his hands again and again. "Darling, I will have to kiss you again just to make you close your beautiful mouth." You growl at him.

"I'll bite your tongue off, snake, if you ever dare do it again." He chuckles and looks at you. His face is an inch away from yours, the brightest of green of his irises so close.

"Your rage and hatred only make you more enthralling in my eyes, darling." You snarl and open your mouth to pour a new dosage of swears at him.

He catches your mouth, this time a second before his cold lips touch yours, he whispers, "Sofna, svass." Your last thought is to protest to the _beloved _moniker, but then your eyes close, and Aphrodite is out.

You open your eyes and swear under your breath. He is treating you like a lamp. Lights you up when it's bloody convenient, and then conks you out when you are a bother. Damn, your head hurts. You groan and sit up. And your jaw drops. Fucking hell, where are you? Your first thought is that you are bloody tripping again. You are lying on soft green grass, a beautiful garden blooming around you, flowers softly bobbing their head in a warm summer breeze. You can literally smell roses in the air. You turn your head to look around, and the world sways.

"Careful, darling, you are still weak from the Bifrost travel." Loki is sitting nearby, clad only in light linen pants and a thin green tunic, barefoot, armour and furs gone, his coat and boots thrown aside. You quickly look over yourself. You are still in your old clobber, from last morning. Or was it two days ago? A sodding century? Anyways, the same tunic you threw over yourself when you went to the fucking market. You just really wanted the bloody apples, didn't you Phro? But then again, had you not, Loki would have come to your home. It's better this way, the children were in your house with Thalia and her weans.

"Where are we?" Your voice is raspy. He gets up and walks up to you. You try to move away, but you are shaking, and he kneels in front of you. His narrow cold hand cups your face, and he give you an attentive look.

"Are you feeling qualmish, Sigyn?" You want to snarl back, but instead you gulp and nod, and he pulls you into him. You want to tell him to sod off, but your head is heavy, and there are grotty purple spots dancing in front of your eyes. He sits on the grass and pulls you on his lap. "We are in Svartalfheim, the realm of Dwarves, darling. Do you not remember this garden? We spent so many hours here." His voice is soft, and his hand is stroking your hair. Something changed in him after your tantrum. You are too fagged to figure it out. Your head falls on his shoulder, and to your surprise you feel his heart beating under your hand on his chest. Should he even have a heart?

"Look above, you have always enjoyed the ceiling," he points up, and you look. Bloody fuck, there is a ceiling. And it is covered in some glittering gems, like diamonds and rubies and what not. You are in a fucking cave! His hand returns to your hair. His fingers are long and cool, they gently run through your curls, and you feel your nausea receding. "You and I would run here to study on quiet evenings, while others would eat copiously, and drink no less excessively, and brag." His voice is mesmerizing, it has a tinge of melancholia to it, and you sit quietly listening to him. No way in hell you believe a word that comes out of his sodding mouth, but you are so zonked… Your lids are heavy, and you are surprisingly comfortable in his arms. He is rock hard, all bones and hard muscles, but he is holding you with familiarity, you are tucked perfectly into him. "We were still children, Thor and others were at one of those feasts, and my… mother would give us a basket of food, and you and I would sneak here. I wonder if she realized that we used a passage into another of the Nine Realms instead of just hiding in one of the towers in Asgard." Mother, he had a mother… You immediately think of your children and tense in his arms. You shouldn't be that comfy here, you should be fighting! You need to go back to your family!

"Does she live? Your mother?" He is looking somewhere away, his eyes distant.

"For the sake of an argument, let us say no."

"Do you have fond memories of her?" Here is your chance. He is talking. Make your move, Phro! Find a weak spot and hit the target! Why do you feel like a bloody fucker?

"I do," his voice is coloured in some other emotion. "Not the last ones I have of her though. Those are… unpleasant."

"The last thing my children will remember of me is how I yelled at their father and rushed out of the house smashing the door behind me." His body goes rigid. You feel sick again. "When you get whatever it is you want and need me for, will you return me home, Loki?"

He is quiet for a couple moments, and then he slightly turns and looks into your eyes. "No," somehow you are not surprised. You feel empty inside. "But by then you will not want to go back yourself, minn villieldr." He presses his cold lips to your cheek and goes back to petting you.

You tuck your head under his chin and relax into his embrace. You made up your mind. You will let Heph get his hands on the cunt first, and only then you will kick him in the bollocks. You regulate your breathing and gently rub your nose to his neck. You haven't done it in centuries, but you are Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and as they say in love and war… And you are going to end the wanker in like it is the second Trojan War! You splay your palm on his chest and murmur, "This feels familiar..." He takes a deep breath in and moves you a wee bit away from him to look into your eyes. You are giving him a soft soppy look. No way in Hades he can say no to the peepers, and the freckles, and the slightly trembling lips… Hephaestus, god of fire and rage, the hardest fuck there has been in universe didn't, what to say about a thin blooded, pale and skinny Northerner? Viking, my arse! His thin lips slightly open, and you add some pitiful fluttering of lashes. Oh you just wait, snake, Aphrodite will do a number on you!

At that moment you hear a few jolly happy voices coming from under the hill you are sitting on. What now?.. Four short blokes, wide and sturdy, barmy axes in their hands, beards and shite. Yep, you don't need to know much to get it, these are Dwarves. Bloody fuck.


End file.
